Their lips met and they kissed, Sabrina's heart racing under his hand. His face was hard and cruel-looking with the scar jagged across it as he gazed into her passion-dark violet eyes, his voice deep as he whispered into her small, shell-like ear.
"You puzzle me, little one. I am holding you close to my heart and yet I don't even know your name? Tell me," he commanded, biting playfully at her ear.
"Is it Elizabeth? Jane? No? How about Anne, or Kathleen?" he teased. "More unusual, eh? Well, then, how about Ariadne or Cressida?"
"No, it's Sabrina," she laughed.
"Sabrina," he whispered against her lips, liking the sound of it on his tongue. "I should have known. You're the nymph of the river Severn, and a princess of old England. Have you taken a fancy to a mere mortal and taken me as your lover, Sabrina? Will you be kind to me, or will you lead me through the woodlands and into the fens where I'd be helpless and at your mercy?" he asked mockingly before kissing her passionately and almost punishingly.
"I would never do that to Your Grace," Sabrina replied, the flickering light in the room casting mysterious shadows on her face.
"Ah, but you already are being cruel to me. 'Your Grace.' How dare you address me in that manner, as though we were strangers. Lucien is my name, Sabrina," he told her before his mouth found hers.
He held her to him intimately, and sensing a change in him, Sabrina tried to draw back, but he held her firmly locked in his embrace. "Don't turn from me now, not when you hold me in those small hands of yours. I'm wild for you, Sabrina, and I intend to make you mine."
Sabrina gave a gasp of surprise as he rolled over her, covering her bare flesh with his, gentleness turning to strength as he boldly pressed against her and let her know a man's body. She arched her back, moving her hips sinuously as she tried to get even closer, while his hands and lips urged her building desire to a heightened pitch. Delight was shattered by pain as he became part of her body and they moved together as one, his muscular and controlled strength overwhelming and frightening her until she felt the first stirrings of passion in her loins, and responded ardently to his every move as he tutored her in the art of making love.
Afterwards he lay beside her holding her close and kissed the tears from her face, then very gently forced her face up to his.
"Why?" he whispered, feeling an unaccustomed tenderness for this young girl he held so closely in his arms. "Why did you let me take you? I had no idea you could possibly be a virgin." He shook his head in disbelief, but felt a certain possessive satisfaction at having been the first man to make love to her and know the delight of her charms.
Sabrina shrugged philosophically. "It was bound to have happened someday. Why shouldn't I seek fulfillment before the hangman stretches my neck?" she laughed, the sound coming out harsh and hollow.
Lucien shook her hard, his mouth grim. "You'll not masquerade again. I'll see to it, Sabrina, that you never have the chance to." He forced her chin up roughly and stared into her still-passionate eyes.
"God, I can't even look at you without wanting you again." He kissed her reddened lips deeply, drawing the sweetness from them into his. Sabrina's arm curled around his neck as she answered his desire with a new-found confidence of her own.
"You learn quickly, little one," Lucien smiled, his hands straying over her taut stomach and up to cup her breasts.
"I've had a good tutor," she teased, a dimple peeping out as she smiled and added mischievously, "and imagine how I'll be after several lessons."
"Just as long as I'm the only one giving them," Lucien remarked with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'll not share you with anyone."
"Jealous? Lucien," she experimented using his name, pronouncing it lovingly. "It suits you with your golden curls and arrogant stare."
"Arrogant?" Lucien retorted. "I'd never met arrogance before I met you. Strutting around in breeches and jackboots. Terrorizing the countryside."
He laughed deeply as he thought of the first night he'd met her and the chagrined faces around that banqueting table. If they knew? He laughed again at the thought.
"What is so amusing that you would shake me from my dreams?" Sabrina demanded, rising on an elbow across his chest, her breasts resting snugly against him.
Lucien looked up at her, amusement still brimming in his eyes. "You, my funny little princess. Now," he said with an imperious note in his voice, "we've a few details to straighten out. I want to know everything about you, and why an apparently well-bred young woman resorts to highway robbery?"
Sabrina pulled away from the warmth of his arms, feeling at once lost and bereft without them around her. She turned a dainty shoulder to him and stared into the shadowy room, the candle having guttered long ago and just a small, nickering flame remaining of the fire he had re-lit.
"Why must you know? Why must you meddle and interfere in what does not concern you? None of this would ever have happened if you hadn't entrapped me," she cried desperately as the memory of their passion was replaced with all of her old fears and the realization that she was still his prisoner.
Lucien pulled her back to him, angered by that little shoulder turned to him and the stiff, slender back she presented against him. He was not accustomed to resistance from a woman, or from anyone for that matter, and he did not like it—nor, would he accept it.
"I am very much involved, as you have held me up at pistol point numerous times, stolen from me, and dueled with me. And, damnation, doesn't that give me the right to know the truth? By God, you'll tell me, Sabrina. I'll not let you leave this bed until you do," he threatened.
"What harm can it do? If you implicate others, what can it matter, for I can't prosecute them without bringing you into it, and I'll be damned if I'll do that. What kind of man do you take me for? I make love to you tonight and then let the soldiers take you away to be hanged? Besides," he added arrogantly, "no one would dare threaten what is mine—and you are mine. I'll not give you up," he added in a hard, possessive voice.
His lips found hers and he kissed her hungrily, moving her onto his chest where she lay beneath the caress of his hands.
"What do you mean, Lucien?" Sabrina asked uncertainly, a fear in her heart from the possessive note in his voice.
His answer was muffled by his kisses on her throat and shoulders as he explained reasonably, "I shall set you up as my mistress. How would you like a house in London, and a small country house? I've a nice one near Bath that has been recently refurnished. I can be with you most of the time, and when in London I shall visit you at your house."
His hands slid over her buttocks and pressed her gently against his hips, making her aware of his desire for her. He rolled her under him and made love to her again, guiding her to please and satisfy him, unsatisfied himself until she felt the ecstasy he could bring to her.
Sabrina sighed, listening to his deep and steady breathing as he slept beside her. She bit her Up and blinked to keep the tears from overflowing her eyes. She only had herself to blame. Why should he think to offer her anything more? How could she tell him she was the daughter of a marquis, and even then would he really believe her? But what could their future be? As far as she knew he might be married. He probably was. After all, he was a duke, and handsome and rich as well. He was in his thirties, she guessed, and probably had children as old as Richard by now. But she couldn't become his mistress. She looked down at him sleeping so soundly and peacefully, not knowing that this would be the one night for their love. Never would she see him again. Because she would not take the chance of meeting him, she would never again masquerade as Bonnie Charlie. The charade would end, and Bonnie Charlie would be retired. They had enough money now. She was tired, her nerves were frayed from constant fear and worry, and this latest fiasco had broken her confidence. She knew if they played the game too long they would get caught, as indeed they had this time. They had become careless, and her cockiness had led to entrapment and near-disaster.
No, she must
never risk meeting Lucien again. He
would be furious to lose her, and knowing his iron deter-
mination, she knew he would seek her out. She must be so
careful. She must hide for a while and he would soon for-
get a night of wonderful love, tire of his futile quest and
seek diversion elsewhere. She swallowed painfully as she
admitted to herself that a diversion was all she was to him.
He didn't love her, he wanted her merely to fulfill his lust-
ful desires. ,
Sabrina gazed lovingly at his face. Why should she be any different for him? How many lovers had he had since he'd reached manhood? She was just another in a long succession of women he'd desired. But for her, he was special. Lucien was her first love, a young girl's idealistic dream of what a man should be, awakening her desires and changing her from an innocent girl into a woman. Lucien would always be special for her, not only because he'd been her first lover, but because he was the man she loved.
She had fallen in love with the scar-faced gentleman. No, never again would she call him that. She gazed down at his sleeping face, her violet eyes reflecting the love in her heart. She traced the cruel scar with a fingertip light as a butterfly, then the beautifully chiseled mouth that was slightly curved with a dream. His lashes were long and dark, and she ran her fingertip across their fineness. His ears narrowed at the top like a satyr's and Sabrina smiled as she thought of his passionate lovemaking.
A desolate feeling of her accepted fate swept over her suddenly, and carried along by this wave of inevitable destiny, Sabrina ran her fingers through the wiry hair on Lucien's chest, placing nibbling kisses in a frenzy across his face.
Lucien's startled eyes opened, then grew full of warmth as he stared up into the heart-shaped face above him. He gathered her to him, finding her soft mouth with his and sucking its sweetness as a bee sucks nectar from a flower.
"Ah, little one, how you do please me," he murmured as he felt her small hand fondling him boldly. He looked into her darkened eyes with pleased surprise. She was different. She had taken over the play and was on fire for him, guiding him now with her mounting passion. Her fiery responses and uncontrolled desire ignited a flame in him and he took her fiercely again and again, until they clung together unable to tell where they were not one.
Sabrina looked down on Lucien as he slept deeply, her eyes capturing and memorizing each strong feature of his face. She turned slowly and tiptoed to the door, carefully pulled it open and passed through it soundlessly, then closed it silently behind her without a backward glance at the sleeping man in the large fourposter bed. Quickly surveying the corridor she hurried across to a partially opened door and looked inside. The tumbled bedclothes and personal articles around the room showed her that it was the room Lucien had moved to while she convalesced in his. He would have brought her clothes and weapons here for safekeeping. Sabrina moved instinctively to a chest at the foot of the bed and opening the lid smiled with relief to see her coat and breeches. Beneath them were her pistol, rapier and dagger. She quickly pulled the breeches on over the nightshirt. Her shirt and waistcoat were missing, too badly stained and torn to be mended, she thought, as she stood on one foot then the other and slipped her stockings on, rolling them up above her knees and over the tops of her breeches. Stepping into her boots she tugged them on and grabbed up her weapons. With a look of triumph she spied her mask in the dim corner of the chest and quickly donned it. Then braiding her hair with deft fingers she tucked it up and covered it with the wig and cocked hat that completed her disguise.
Checking her pistol, which was still primed, she made her way from the room and quietly down the hall, leaving undisturbed the sleeping occupant of the other bedchamber.
The house was quiet. It must be near to dawn, she reckoned, although it was still pitch-black outside the windows. Sabrina quietly made her way down the stairs, then through the door beneath the stairs and down a corridor to the kitchen area. Lucien had mentioned absently a storage room being strong enough to hold Will. Silently she entered the kitchen and carefully stood in the darkness.
From the corner came the unmistakable sounds of snoring. Sabrina steadied herself and then followed the sounds of their source. Pressing the cold barrel of her pistol against the sleeping guard's throat, she nudged him lightly and said softly, "I'd not make any abrupt moves, mate, or I'll blow a hole through your head."
The now-awake guard's snoring stopped with a choke and he nearly fell from the chair precariously tipped on its hind legs against the wall. He looked up into the dark as much as the steel against his neck would allow and gulped audibly as he focused on a darker mask and two glowing orbs staring down at him.
"Now, unlock the door and let's see if our big friend wants to join us." Sabrina ordered softly.
The guard slowly stood up and fumbled at the lock, the key scraping noisily as he turned it. As the door swung open, Sabrina gave the fellow a push into the room with the pistol and followed close behind.
"Who is it?" Will demanded belligerently. "Who else but Bonnie Charlie," Sabrina replied jauntily, sighing with relief at the sound of his rough voice. "Charlie!" Will cried joyously. "Is it really you?" "In the flesh, no ghost haunting you, Will," she answered, drawing her dagger as her eyes found Will's trussed-up form before her in the darkness, her pistol still hard in the servant's back.
In a flash she'd cut his bonds and he was stretching his arms and legs painfully after first knocking out the guard with one effortless swing of his big fist.
"Been wantin' to do that since first I laid eyes on the fool's grinning face," he declared with satisfaction.
"Quick, it's near dawn and we must get far from here, Will, before the household awakens," Sabrina warned him nervously.
"Aye, we're away," Will agreed easily, his familiar voice like a soothing balm to Sabrina's high-wrought emotions.
Beware the fury of a patient man.
John Dryden
Chapter 6
"OH God, Sabrina, I thought I'd never see you alive again. I've been so worried," Mary cried, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy from weeping.
She'd been arranging flowers in the hall when Sabrina had stumbled in, her face drawn and white, looking like death against the blackness of her coat. Hurriedly she had swept her upstairs and out of sight of the servants. She had gasped in horror when she'd seen the healing wound on Sabrina's shoulder and heard about the duel.
But something else was wrong. It hadn't only been the fear of death that had caused the pain in Sabrina's eyes, there was anguish as well. Her face had thinned and her cheekbones stood out visibly. The cockiness was missing from Sabrina's answers, and the swagger from her walk. Of course she was tired and weary from her ordeal—but there was something different about her. Poor little Rina, what had happened to her, Mary agonized silently as she saw the trembling of her sister's mouth.
"Couldn't you see my destiny in your visions, Mary? You did predict danger. But you said all would be for the best, remember?" Sabrina said softly. "But you were wrong . . . so very wrong."
"I thought I was wrong when you didn't return. John didn't know where you and Will were. We were frantic, but what could we do?" Mary wrung her hands helplessly. "When I think that you might have been murdered by that evil man—I could die. Oh, why did 1 ever agree to this horrid plan?"
"You had little choice, Mary. How could you stop me? Or, how could we have survived without it? But you needn't worry any longer. Bonnie Charlie is dead. He will no longer roam the highroad after midnight."
"Thank God! I feel so relieved. After this, I don't think I could bear waiting for you night after night, wondering if this time you would be killed."
Mary pushed Bonnie Charlie's clothes distastefully into the chest and thankfully closed the lid on them. Then, perched on the edge of Sabrina's bed, she watched as Sabrina sipped her tea and halfheartedly pecked at her breakfast.
"I ca
n't take the chance of running into the Duke," Sabrina explained. "He knows I'm a woman."
"I imagine he was quite stunned when he discovered you weren't a man?" Mary said with satisfaction, hoping the Duke felt terrible about what he'd done. "I don't like the idea of his caring for you, Sabrina. I mean he was a stranger." She blushed in embarrassment, reluctant to say more.
Sabrina smiled. The less Mary knew, the better. How could she explain what had happened? She knew it would stun and embarrass Mary if she tried to. She hardly understood her emotions herself. They'd been so primitive that she blushed herself to remember—but she was not ashamed. It was her memory to cherish.
"I told Aunt Margaret you were helping a sick family, although I'm surprised that she even noticed your absence. We also have a new difficulty."
Sabrina frowned slightly, giving Mary her full attention.
"There is a Colonel Fletcher in the area, sent from London expressly to apprehend Bonnie Charlie."
Sabrina sipped her tea thoughtfully. "I see, well, that needn't concern us. As I shall no longer masquerade as a highwayman, he has no one to catch. He is here on a fool's errand."
Mary shook her head worriedly. "I don't know, Sabrina, there is something about him. He is a very confident man, and I wouldn't underestimate him. When he looks at you with that penetrating gaze," Mary said with a shiver, "I feel as though he knows everything."
Sabrina laughed, looking like the old Sabrina. "That's your guilty conscience speaking. Besides, can you actually imagine suspecting us of being criminals? It's absurd, which is exactly what this colonel will be thinking, should such an unlikely thought enter his head. No, I see no problems with this Colonel—what was his name?"
"Colonel Terence Fletcher," Mary informed her, a blush spreading across her cheeks.
"Yes, I don't think we'll have any problems with this Fletcher fellow," Sabrina repeated contemptuously, not noticing Mary's flushed face.
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